Visitors

Barry sat on the hard, uncomfortable bed and stared at his knees. He had been up since the early hours of the morning, thinking. He still couldn't believe it. Caitlin had betrayed him. If she had been undercover or even here against her will, she would have lied about the pills. She would have pretended she hadn't seen them in his mouth.

Caitlin had really betrayed him. What Barry didn't understand was why?

Barry suddenly heard the clicking sound of the door to his room being unlocked, but he didn't look up as the doctor walked in. He just stared at his knees. He didn't have the energy to fight, not with how devastated and miserable he was feeling.

"You look tired, Barry," Dr. Wells observed, "Didn't sleep well?"

Barry glared up at him.

"How well would you sleep?" he asked bitterly, "If people you once trusted were holding you prisoner against your will and trying to make you think you were insane?"

Dr. Wells sighed and stepped further into the room.

"Barry, I understand your confusion," he said sympathetically, "I can't even imagine how hard this must be for you, but you need to come to terms with this eventually."

Barry didn't say anything. He just glared up at him.

"You're not the Flash, Barry," Dr. Wells said gently as he walked towards Barry's dresser and opened a drawer, pulling something out.

Barry watched him curiously as he then held the item up for him to see. It was a newspaper. Barry stared at the headline.

FLASH-FLOODS DESTROY LOCAL ROADS AND HIGHWAYS

ZOLOMAN ROAD CURRENTLY UNDER CONSTRUCTION

He was still staring at it as Dr. Wells started to speak.

"When the human mind endures intense emotional pain, like the trauma you endured with your mother's murder, it has no choice but to protect itself," he explained, "You've taken bits and pieces from your surroundings and used them to create your own fantasy world where you feel safe and secure—a world in which you have superpowers."

Barry stared at the newspaper for a moment longer before looking back at the doctor.

"I know who I am," he said quietly.

His voice didn't have the same confidence it normally had, though.

"I'm not sure you do," Wells said sadly, "You're not the Flash, Barry. You're Barry Allen, and you're a bright, young crime scene investigator who has unfortunately lost touch with reality for a little while. We can change that, though. I can give you your life back, back to the way it was before all of this happened to you. You can get better, Barry. You can still live a happy, normal life."

Dr. Wells walked back to the door.

"It's up to you, Barry," he said quietly before exiting and closing the door behind him.

Barry sat there in numb shock for a few minutes, but then he quickly stood up and crossed the room to his dresser. He opened the top drawer and dug through its contents. He pulled out several magazines and newspapers he found in it and stared at them, his mouth dry.

GREEN ARROW PARK: THE NEW VACATION HOTSPOT!

RAINBOW RAIDER AMUSEMENT RIDE CONSTRUCTION NOW COMPLETE

EOBARD THE ELEPHANT ENCHANTS ZOO PATRONS

METABOLITE VITAMINS RECALLED BY FDA FOR ADVERSE HEALTH EFFECTS

WALLACE WESTON WINS NASCAR RACE

Barry didn't even realize he had tears rolling down his face until he had set the papers aside.

"I know who I am," he whispered brokenly.

Barry was sullen and quiet as they led him to his therapist's office for his weekly therapy session. He didn't fight or argue. He just let them lead him down the hall to the small office. He didn't know what to believe anymore. Nothing made sense. A small part of him was actually starting to believe he might actually be crazy.

"Your therapist will be right in," the attendant said to him as Barry sat down on the couch in the small office, "And Dr. Wells wanted me to remind you about the sexual harassment discussion he had with you last week."

As the man exited the small office, Barry stared after him in confusion. Sexual harassment? What the hell was that supposed to mean?

Barry was shocked when the therapist entered the room.

"Patty?!" he said in disbelief.

"Hello, Barry," she said kindly, smiling warmly at him as she took a seat in the arm chair next to the couch he was sitting on.

Barry looked at the nametag clipped to Patty's jacket.

Dr. Patricia Spivot, PhD.

"Eyes up, Barry," Patty said gently, blushing slightly.

Barry looked at her in confusion at first, and then he realized. She thought he was staring at her chest! The sexual harassment comment floated up in his mind, and Barry blushed.

"I understand you're having a tough week," Patty said sympathetically, "Do you want to talk about it?"

Barry let out a heavy sigh and leaned forward in his seat, burying his face in his hands. He didn't know what to think anymore.

"It's okay, Barry," Patty assured him soothingly, "Relapses happen. We've gotten through this before, and we'll get through it now."

"This is really happening," he said quietly to himself, "It's all true. I am crazy."

"Barry, we've discussed this already," she said sadly, "You don't have to use that label for yourself. You have a legitimate medical condition, and you're here to get help for it. You're going to get better, Barry."

Barry looked up at her then, his eyes swimming.

"We never dated," he said quietly, "Did we?"

Patty's cheeks tinted pink as she shook her head sadly.

"It's okay, Barry," she assured him, "You're not the first patient to mistake me for their girlfriend, and you've always been very sweet and respectful about your misplaced affection. I've had much worse."

Barry's face burned as he wiped a tear from his cheek.

"My condition," he said quietly, swallowing back the lump in his throat, "How…how did it start?"

Patty gave him a sad, sympathetic look.

"It started fairly slowly," Pat—Dr. Spivot began, "It came on gradually at first. Your adoptive family, Joe and Iris, started to become more and more concerned for you over time. Your fascination with the impossible was growing into an obsession."

Patty surveyed his face as she explained, but Barry wasn't looking at her. He was looking down at his lap as he listened to her speak.

"It started with your CSI work," she said gently, "You started claiming that the evidence at crime scenes was caused by supernatural means. Everything escalated then when you made your trip to Starling. Your condition worsened drastically while you were away. When you returned, you started speaking of some imaginary vigilante that you had met there. Later that night, one of your coworkers found you in your lab, having a nervous breakdown. You were admitted to Renfrew Rehab Center three days later, where you remained in a near-catatonic state for nearly nine months. When you came out of it, your full psychological delusion finally presented itself. We've been working with you to overcome it ever since."

Barry's lip trembled when she finished, and tears quickly started streaming down his face.

"I can't believe this is my life," he said brokenly, staring at his hands in his lap, "I can't believe this is happening."

Patty reached out and placed a hand on his knee.

"It's okay, Barry," she soothed, "I'm going to help you through this. You're going to get better, and you're going to go back to living a healthy, happy life."

Barry nodded and wiped his face.

"Thank you, Dr. Spivot."

Barry stared at the blank, white canvas in front of him, hardly seeing it. His mind felt as blank as the canvas. He couldn't think anymore. He was just numb with shock.

Everything he thought he knew was wrong. Patty had explained things to him. There was no STAR Labs, no particle accelerator explosion. There was no such thing as superheroes or metahumans. Oliver Queen was no longer with the living. He had never been found on some island. He had gone down with the Queen's Gambit. There was no Felicity Smoak, no John Diggle or Ray Palmer. No Martin Stein. No Jefferson Jackson.

No Flash.

"Are you going to paint something, Barry?" the activities director, Linda, asked kindly.

Barry looked up at the woman whom he had thought was his ex-girlfriend and shook his head. Linda looked disappointed.

"You normally participate in activities, though. Just last week you painted a beautiful picture of a gorilla. Why don't you paint a different animal today?" she suggested.

Tears filled Barry's eyes as he shook his head again.

"Do you want to call it quits for today?" Linda asked gently.

Barry nodded weakly.

He couldn't stand the way she was talking to him. It was like he was a little kid or something. That's what he was to her, though, he thought bitterly. He was just a little lost puppy for her to take care of.

Linda nodded and gave him space then, walking away from him to praise Hartley for the painting he was working on. Barry wiped the tears from his face after she had walked away.

He didn't know what to do, didn't know where to go from here. How was he supposed to just continue with this life now? He was just supposed to live here now? Doing finger paintings and standing in medication lines? If this was his life, then Barry preferred the delusion.

Linda returned only a few moments after she had walked away from him. She was smiling widely at him.

"I have something that will cheer you up, Barry," she said cheerfully, "Joe and Iris are here to see you."

Barry perked up at those words.

"Joe and Iris?" he asked hopefully.

Linda nodded.

"Ron will escort you to your room," she said, "They're waiting for you there."

Barry quickly stood up from his seat, his heart leaping in his chest. Joe and Iris were here. It was the only thing that could have possibly lifted his mood. He desperately needed to see a familiar face, one that wasn't Ronnie Raymond, wearing scrubs and escorting him back to his room.

When they reached the room, Barry rushed through the doorway. Joe and Iris were really there. He burst into tears at the sight of them. It was almost strange to see people who weren't wearing scrubs of some kind. Even he, himself, was still wearing his white patient scrubs. He felt slightly embarrassed to have Joe and Iris see him this way.

But that embarrassment was forgotten when Iris rushed forward to hug him.

"Barry," she said happily, wrapping her arms around him, "I've missed you."

Barry squeezed her as tight as he could without hurting her. He buried his face into her neck, letting the familiar smell of her shampoo lift his spirits as he cried into her shoulder.

"Iris," he whispered, "Thank God you're here."

Iris pulled away from the hug and gave him a watery smile. There was a shadow of guilt in her features as she smiled at him. Joe stepped forward and hugged him then.

"I'm so sorry we waited so long to visit this time, Bar," he said sadly as he embraced him.

When they pulled apart, Joe started to explain.

"It's just such a long drive to Starling, and we've been so busy," he said quickly, "I'm so sorry we waited this long. Dr. Wells told me you weren't doing very well now, and I feel like it's partly our fault for not visiting sooner."

"It's okay," Barry said, giving him a watery smile, "You're here now. That's all that matters."

"How are you doing, Barry?" Iris asked worriedly, "Are you okay?"

"I'm…"

Barry didn't know what to say. Out of habit, he was going to say he was fine, but he was so far from fine right now. There were no words for all the emotions he was trying to process at the moment.

"I'm just adjusting yet," he said quietly, "It's a lot to take in, finding out that I'm in a mental institution."

Joe and Iris both looked at each other.

"Bar," Joe said quietly, giving him a nervous look, "You've been here for two years."

"I know," Barry said sadly, "But to me, it feels like I just got here. It's a lot to wrap my head around."

Joe and Iris exchanged another look.

"Dr. Wells told us you relapsed," Iris said sadly, "But I didn't know it was this bad. Just last week you were telling us you were almost ready to go home."

Barry took a shaky breath.

"Apparently, this isn't the first time I relapsed," he said quietly, "Is that true?"

Joe nodded sadly.

"Yeah," he said quietly, "It's true. This would be your seventh relapse now."

Barry's heart sank as he took in this information.

"I'm never going to get better, am I?" he asked quietly, tears in his eyes.

"Oh, Bar," Iris said, moving forward to hug him again, "Don't say that. You're going to get better. I know you will. We have faith in you, Barry."

Barry sniffed and pulled out of the hug then. He looked at both of them with watery eyes.

"I'm so sorry," he sobbed, "I'm so sorry for all of this. I don't know how this happened."

"Please don't apologize, Bar," Joe said brokenly, "You don't have to ever be sorry for this. We know it's not your fault. If anything, I blame myself. I'm a cop. I should have recognized the signs sooner."

This didn't make Barry feel any better, though. He put his face in his hands, and couldn't hold back his sobs any longer. He completely broke down.

"Barry," Iris said, her heart breaking as she put a hand on his shoulder.

"I can't believe this is happening," he sobbed into his hands, his voice cracking, "I'm so embarrassed! How did this happen? How did I let this happen?"

"Barry," Joe said, stepping over to stand right in front of him, "Barry, look at me."

Barry tearfully lifted his face from his hands to look at Joe.

"This isn't your fault," Joe said firmly, and Barry could tell by the way he said it that it was something Joe had said to him a million times.

"You've been through so much in your life, Bar," Joe choked, "But you survived through all of it. You're a survivor, Barry, a fighter, and you can fight this now."

"I don't know if I can," Barry said brokenly, "I'm so confused, Joe. Nothing makes sense anymore."

"It will, Barry," Iris said, her voice cracking as tears ran down her face, "The doctors are going to cure you. You're going to be our Barry again. You will."

Barry buried his face in his hands again as he sobbed.

"Why did this happen to me?"